


On Having Reached the Venerable…

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Fluff, Karaoke, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's upset that he made a promise while drunk one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Having Reached the Venerable…

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer the first: WEP owns Voltron.

Lance slumped in his seat, arms folded tightly over his chest, legs crossed, scowling ferociously at the floor.  He would meet none of his teammates’ gazes, and was the very picture of indignation and outrage.

 

And Keith wouldn’t stop chuckling.

 

Everyone else on the team was enjoying the evening out.  They were all dressed to the nines, and Keith and Allura had booked the restaurant for their party alone.  He had to admit that they all looked fine.  Allura and Romelle were dressed in nearly identical daring cocktail dresses, Allura in midnight blue, Romelle in dark emerald.  Hunk and Sven wore their best suits, each escorting a Princess, and Hunk had trimmed his thick hair, though he’d loosened his tie before they’d even the left the castle.  Pidge wore slacks and a white shirt, having already ditched his sport coat.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the group around another table.  Romelle was half in Sven’s lap, her cheeks very pink.  Allura sat between Hunk and Pidge, blushing, but grinning at her cousin and Sven, and occasionally joining Pidge and Hunk in teasing them.  _I guess we’ve finally corrupted her_ , Lance thought, and fought the urge to smile.

 

_Strange to see them all in anything but their everyday clothes, having fun like that._

 

_And Keith…_

 

Even when he was upset with him, Lance had to admit his lover was beautiful.  He had dressed simply, dark red silk shirt and black slacks, hair tamed into order, eyes shining.  Even though he considered himself a victim, Lance had been infected by Keith’s enthusiasm for the evening out.  Because of that, Keith had been able to coax him into dressing up as well.

 

But once they had left their room, and Sven, Hunk and Pidge had started needling him about his birthday, he wished he hadn’t listened.  He hadn’t spoken to Keith since they’d left the castle.

 

Lands castigated himself fiercely.  _Damn it,_ he thought, _I ought to have_ known _better.  Keith_ never _drinks more than me._

 

Well, it had certainly seemed like he had that night, more than a month ago.  He’d also been giggling – something else he’d never done before – and staggering, so unsteady on his feet that Lance, who hadn’t been exactly sober himself, had decided that he needed help getting back to their bedroom.  And so they’d lurched away together, as the party in the rec room died down behind them.  Hunk and Sven had been engaged in a drinking game, some grim wager hanging over their heads, while Allura and Pidge were about ready to pass out together on the sofa.

 

It had been a rare night, indeed.  Almost as soon as they’d stumbled out the door, Keith had pushed him up against the wall, kissing him hungrily.  Even though his reactions had been slowed by the alcohol, he still responded to that, kissing back with equal desire, letting his hands rove over the body pressed against him, as familiar to him now as his own.

 

“Take me back…” Keith had whispered against his neck, around damp kisses, “but hurry.  I want you bad…” And he’d ground against him hard, proving it.

 

Lance had been out of it just enough not to question Keith’s urgency, out of it just enough to reply with his own need.  So they reeled off, leaning on each other for support, and stopping every now and then to kiss and grope like teenagers.  He had been more than ready when they fell through the door to their bedroom; had, in fact, been working at the buttons on the shirt Keith wore when the door opened behind him.

 

Keith had landed gracelessly on top of him, knocking the wind out of him, and still trying to kiss Lance as he gasped for air.  Finally, he settled for suckling on Lance’s neck, rucking up his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans while Lance managed to breathe somehow.

 

Having regained his breath, Lance reached out to kick the door closed.  Keith was squirming on top of him in a way that made it even more difficult to think.  He had tried to roll them over and regain some control, but, in an incredibly coordinated movement for one so inebriated, Keith pinned his arms to the floor.

 

“Keith, what are you…”

 

Keith leaned down, grinding his pelvis against Lance’s.  “Y’r birthday…”

 

He had groaned in pleasure, closing his eyes, hips rocking up against Keith.  “What… what about it?”

 

“Know you don’ usually like ‘em, but… I wanna throw you a birthday party.  All right?”  He was still working his hips, slowly, maddeningly, and his mouth brushed warm against Lance’s ear as he spoke.

 

It was a hot spot, and Lance had shuddered, trying to break free.  “Keith!  Let me…”

 

“And sing for me?  Please?”  His lips had trailed down to another hot spot on Lance’s throat.

 

“Keith!” His voice had held the hint of a shriek.  He was sweating, bucking, and Keith was pushing all his buttons… and he loved it.

 

“Promise?”  Another slow grind, pelvis to pelvis, a puff of air across his chest, feather-soft against a nipple…

 

He had been far enough gone to decide that Keith wouldn’t even remember what he’d asked for, much less that he’d agreed.  He hadn’t even been sure _he_ would remember.  So he’d gasped out, “Yes!  Promise!”  Immediately, Keith had released his arms, and he’d rolled them over, desperately trying to shed his clothes and rip Keith’s off simultaneously.

 

It hadn’t been making love; it had been _sex_ , quick, dirty and immensely satisfying, right there on the floor. Lance didn’t even remember climbing onto the bed afterward.

 

The next things of which he had actually been aware were the aftereffects of having fun.  Light that was far too bright was shining into his eyes, his head was pounding and his tongue was stuck to his teeth.  As silently as he could, he once again vowed to make Sven’s life miserable for taunting him into drinking… what was it again?  One Fifty-one?  Whatever it was, it kicked like a mule – and was still kicking.  After that, he hadn’t been able to taste anything.

 

He must have made some sound, because his head resonated and he groaned, which only made it worse.  Even from across the room, Keith’s laugh had made him flinch.  He propped one eye open as much as he dared, quickly closed it again with a whimper as the light seared his brain.  There had been an earsplitting rattle as the shades were lowered, then a very soft nudge against his arm.

 

“Aspirin, love?” Keith whispered when he dared open his eyes again.  His lover proffered both a tall glass of water and painkillers.

 

“Please,” he croaked, and struggled to sit up.  After choking them down, he held the still-cool glass to his forehead.  “What was the occasion last night, anyway?”

 

“Lughnasadh?  Or was that the one before?  I can’t remember now.”

 

“And why are _you_ even conscious?” Lance demanded sourly.  “You were _blitzed_ last night…”

 

He had laughed again, unsympathetic.  “Oh, I wasn’t that drunk,” he replied with a grin.  Then his voice dropped to a husky murmur that set Lance’s nerves humming despite his hangover.  “I had everything I wanted.”  He caressed Lance’s cheek and bent to kiss him.  “Except maybe a rematch?”

 

_What the hell_ , Lance thought, and let Keith plunder his mouth, flannel taste and all.  The activity had gotten his blood flowing, taking away his headache.

 

So the whole event had been forgotten, until a few days ago, when Keith had reminded him of his upcoming natal day celebration.

 

And told him there was going to be karaoke.

 

And that Lance was going to perform it, as he’d promised.

 

_Next time,_ he told himself firmly, _either spike his drink or don’t promise_ anything _!_

 

Preferably both.

 

He looked up as someone approached the table.  Keith set down a glass of clear liquid and grinned down at him.  His cheeks were a bit flushed.  Lance returned to his brooding, trying to ignore him.  _After all_ , he thought, quite resentful, _this is all_ Keith’s _fault._

 

“It’s time, love.”  Keith leaned over his shoulder, his arms resting on the back of Lance’s chair.

 

Lance grunted, refused to move.  “No.”

 

Keith nuzzled his cheek.  “You promised,” he reminded gently.

 

Well, yes, in all honesty, he had.  But… “I was drunk,” he protested.

 

“Lance.”  Keith’s tone reproved him mildly.

 

“It was under duress.”  Now he was really grasping at straws.

 

Keith knew it, and sighed softly, straightening.  “And I was so looking forward to it…” he said in a disappointed tone, seating himself in the other chair.  He rested his elbow on the table, his cheek on his hand, and blinked soulfully at his lover.

 

Lance groaned.  “Oh, no, not this, not the pout… ” He’d never been able to stand it when Keith looked at him like this, so crestfallen.  He felt like Keith had pinned all his hopes upon him, and he’d managed to fail.  It always awakened in him an urge to correct whatever it was he’d done wrong, so Keith would smile again.

 

And Keith knew that, too, damn it.

 

At least he didn’t use this tactic very often.  Lance gave in.  “This is your way of paying me back for teasing you about your gray hair, isn’t it?” he grumbled by way of acquiescence.

 

Keith gave him a faint smile, head still propped on his hand.  “Now, why would you think that?” he asked softly, running a finger over the rim of his glass.  “I just want to hear you sing.”

 

Feeling that honor had been somehow appeased, however slightly, Lance stood.  “I’ll get you for this,” he promised a low voice.

 

Keith’s smile grew wider.  “I hope so,” he murmured as Lance moved toward the stage.

 

“Hey, Lance!” Hunk called.  Together, as if they’d practiced it, he and Pidge yelled, “How old are you again?”  They both roared with laughter when Lance scowled and flipped them the bird.  Allura was giggling behind her hand, her eyes dancing with mischief.  _She put them up to it!_ he realized, feeling stunned.  Romelle was bright red, but that may have had something to do with Sven whispering in her ear from behind.

 

Lance stepped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone.  “I hope _you’re_ enjoying yourselves,” he muttered with as much ill-grace as he could summon.  The group laughed and clapped.  He sighed.  “As you know, I’ve been shanghaied into providing you with your evening’s amusement.  Our Fearless Leader,” he swept a mocking bow toward Keith, who didn’t take his eyes off Lance, “has decided upon the first song of the night.  Without further ado – because the sooner it’s over the sooner I can escape—” and they laughed again, “here it is.”

 

_What am I doing?_ he asked himself as he signaled for the stagehand in the wings to start the song.  _Even though I don’t want to, I’m almost playing to them!_   Inwardly, he sighed again.  _Keith knows me too well.  He knew this would happen, that once I got on stage I’d probably start to enjoy it, damn it.  Well.  He’s still not getting any nookie._

 

He glanced at Keith, who had settled back to watch him, still smiling.  He knew Keith found his singing an incredible turn-on, and later he would either have to fend off his impassioned lover or relax the no-nookie ultimatum given earlier.  His voice was really nothing special, just another pleasant sounding light baritone, but Keith loved it.

 

Then he smiled brightly, startling everyone.  They had all been expecting him to continue his surly behavior through the song.  Privately, he laughed.  The better he performed now, the more frustrated Keith would be later.  _And that,_ he thought, _might just be the best revenge._

 

Keith was still looking up at him, swirling his glass.

 

_All right, the first line is_ such _a joke,_ he thought as the words flashed up on the screen.  But as introductory bars of the song floated away, he lifted his voice, finding the right key with little effort.

 

“I’m gonna take a moment and celebrate my age  
The ending of an era and the turning of a page  
Now it’s time to focus on where I go from here  
Lord, have mercy on my next thirty years…”

 

Hunk and Pidge were howling, and Lance tried to keep from frowning.  He’d actually had to admit his age.  And all this time, he’d managed to keep them thinking that he was years younger than he was.  He certainly didn’t mind growing old; it wasn’t anything anyone could help.  What he objected to was everyone else poking fun at his age.

 

Where he would go from here?  Straight to bed.  Alone.  Keith could sleep on the couch.

 

“Hey, my next thirty years, I’m gonna have some fun  
Try to forget about all the crazy things I’ve done—”

 

Well, there had been some crazy things.  This took the cake, though.  He _had_ to be crazy for letting his lover convince him to do this, and then deciding that he was going to do it well.

 

“Maybe now I’ve conquered all my adolescent fears  
And I’ll do it better in my next thirty years…”

 

_Christ, do I_ have _to say that so much?  So I’m thirty, just give it a rest!_

 

“Oh, my next thirty years, I’m gonna settle all the scores  
Cry a little less, laugh a little more  
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear  
Figure out just what I’m doing here  
In my next thirty years…”

 

_Well,_ he thought, surprised.  _That was different from what I expected.  No hate, no fear… a time for a soldier to lay down his arms, and just… make a life.  I like that.  And I’ve already found my happiness…_

 

_I’m just not going to admit it to him tonight._

 

“Oh, my next thirty years, I’m gonna watch my weight  
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late  
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers  
Maybe I’ll remember my next thirty years…”

 

_Hmm, hinting, is he?_   The sarcastic thought had just passed through when Lance remembered that he’d more or less promised himself not to get so drunk around Keith any more.  That irritated him again.

 

“Oh, my next thirty years will be the best years of my life  
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife—”

 

Staring hard at Keith, he stressed the final word in the line.  Of course, Keith only gave him a dreamy little smile in response.  The rest of the team laughed even harder at their by-play.  _Oh, I’m_ so _gonna get you for this_ , he vowed again.  _I will not let the sappy lines overwhelm me…_

 

“Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear  
Make up for lost time here  
In my next thirty years  
In my next thirty years…”

 

Finally, finally, his torture ended as the music stopped.  Immediately, he hopped off the stage, to the applause and catcalls of the people he wasn’t so sure now he wanted to call his friends, and headed over to the table where Keith waited.

 

“Satisfied?” he growled, glaring down.

 

Keith still wore the same small smile he’d had throughout the song, his eyes slightly unfocused.  Slowly, he unfolded himself from his chair and stood.  Then, without any warning, he launched himself at Lance, wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him so hard that Lance couldn’t breathe.

 

There were more whoops and clapping from the table beside him.

 

Automatically, his arms went around Keith, who flowed against him, his kiss headier than wine and sweeter than mead.

 

Lance could feel his resolve melting with the kiss.  All right, maybe Keith would get some nookie after all.

 

Three familiar voices chorused, “Get a room!” Only three?  Lance opened one eye and choked.  Romelle had climbed fully onto Sven’s lap and was putting everything she had into kissing him, her hands holding his head, her hair tumbling about their faces.  Allura, Hunk and Pidge laughed as Sven’s hand groped on the table, closed on some sugar packets and threw them blindly, missing all three of his intended targets.

 

Their kiss broken, Keith nipped softly at him to reclaim his attention and Lance was immediately lost in his glittering eyes.  “No, I’m not satisfied yet,” Keith purred.  “But if you want to stay out and have some fun for a little while, I might be able to wait.”  He leaned in for another kiss, gentle this time, almost shy.  “Your birthday present is back at the castle, though,” he added in a hopeful tone.

 

“Not right here?” Lance grinned and pinched at one cheek of Keith’s rear, where his hands had drifted, apparently of their own accord, during their kiss.

 

Keith shook his head.  “Not really…” and he whispered briefly into Lance’s ear.

 

Lance swallowed hard when he finished, his cheeks tinted pink.  “Car.  Now,” he ordered quietly.  Grabbing Keith’s wrist, he started pulling him toward the exit.

 

Over his shoulder, Keith gave the rest of the team a self-satisfied smirk and flashed the “victory” symbol.  They cheered and waved.

 

In the restaurant foyer, Lance tugged Keith in for another kiss.  “In case I forget later,” he murmured, “thank you.  And I know you bought it, so I’d better _not_ get that karaoke player for Christmas.”

 

Keith blinked, and let himself be towed out the door.  How had he known about _that_?

 

***

November 28, 2002  
Revised October, 2003

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer the second: The song is “My Next Thirty Years” by Tim McGraw, and I don’t own that either. 
> 
> Perhaps odd, perhaps not, this fic leapt out and grabbed me shortly after my 29th birthday. I wondered briefly who I was going to torture by making them turn 30 with me, and of course, it had to be Lance, simply because I could see him acting all pouty that someone had found out his true age.


End file.
